


King of the Humans

by ang3lba3



Series: Lie Back and Think of England [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels are Dicks, Army General Dean, Dean's A++ Humor, Dialogue Heavy, Gen, Green Room, Prologue, Torture, War, not nearly as violent as it sounds i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 15:05:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4569051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ang3lba3/pseuds/ang3lba3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zachariah persuades Dean to agree to a treaty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	King of the Humans

It was cold and muddy and Dean had nearly died only about five times now.

A dying angel was a dangerous thing to be around - when they died, their wings burnt through the nearest surface at 1800 or so degrees fahrenheit. In close quarters armies clashing, the nearest surface was almost always a soldier. He’d lost more than one good man to that. Then there was their annoying tendency to blast their grace out of all their orifices, blinding in a sometimes irritatingly literal fashion. The regulation goggles helped keep the maiming down, but the after images on your eyes made it hard to see. Made people make mistakes.

Making mistakes when fighting angels was often fatal.

He crouched in the trench, shaking his flask of holy oil. Damn, almost empty. Holy oil had the convenient miraculous quality of refilling itself in whatever vessel it was in - God bless Elijah and his contribution to the widow of Zarephath. And God or… whoever had made her meal and oil everlasting. The meal was lost, or maybe in the possession of the angels, but they’d picked up the oil buried ten feet underground on a small island off the coast of Maine. The bad part was refilling itself took time, more time than he had right now when he was trying to coat a fire arrow in it before lighting it up and shooting it into the nearest angel.  

He poured the rest of the oil over the tarred end of the arrow, lit it, nocked it, and pulled back the bowstring. Dean narrowed his eyes, aiming for the blonde statuesque angel about to shove a sword through Jo’s ribs, and fi-

Except he didn’t, because he was in a room fancy as fuck and the arrow thunked into the wall uselessly. 

“Whaaaaat the fuck.” Dean said flatly, already moving to place his back in a corner. He dropped the now useless compact bow and drew his angel blade. It fit comfortably in his hand, and he didn’t spare a thought for the angel he’d taken it off of - dark hair, wide eyes, screamed like a goddamn banshee when he lit it up - but instead started assessing the room more fully.

It looked like something out of a mansion, the kind movie stars and people who’d made deals with Heaven lived in.

There were no doors or windows.

He’d heard about this before, the Green Room. Only one person had ever escaped from one, and they were half mad when they did. Dean thought that they didn’t escape so much as the angels let her out as a warning. He didn’t allow himself the moment he wanted to sigh, instead cut his arm - or rather, broke open the scab on the healing wound that he’d made only earlier today - and started painting a banishing symbol on the wall to his side. He didn’t look as he did it, not wanting to take his eyes off the rest of the room, but he had no doubt he was doing it correctly. They’d practiced doing this in absolute darkness, with their hands tied behind their back, sleep deprived and drugged.

Just as he put the finishing touches on it and moved himself to hide it behind his back, a portly balding man appeared too close for comfort but not close enough that Dean could actually do anything about it.

“Dean!” the man said, “Just the man I’ve been looking for. You’re a difficult cockroach to pick out, did you know that? Always squirming away under the fridge.”

Wow, this one didn’t waste any time before jumping right into the usual bug metaphors.

“What can I say?” Dean said. “Easier to poison the food there.”

The man rolled his eyes. No angel ever appreciated his humor. Dean was a goddamn comedian, he just wished someone would get that. To be fair, angels didn’t need to eat, so it wasn’t the _best_ comeback, but -

“I’m Zachariah.” Zachariah made a face, like whatever he was about to say was stuck in his throat and he was choking on it. “And you’re here because we would like to broker a peace treaty,” he finally spat out.

What.

 _“What?”_ Dean said, unimpressed and confused.

“We’re not surrendering,” Zachariah clarified hastily. “But we believe that it would be in our and your best interest to make peace.”

Jesus Christ, did this mean they were _winning?_

“No,” Dean said easily, not even having to think about it. It was better to make a deal with a demon than an angel, everyone knew that - demons might drag you to hell after ten years, but angels would drag you through hell on earth for the rest of your natural life. “Not a chance.”

Zach sighed, face slowly turning red, even though he had to have expected this.

“Never,” Dean explained further. “If I had to choose between blowing Michael and-”

“I get it, you’re a stupid ape who can’t look beyond his own grudge and at the safety of his troops and the rest of humanity,” Zach said, and Dean almost faltered in his conviction, because civilians were dying by the thousands every day.

But then he remembered the last general to make a deal with the angels, John Winchester bleeding out through his eyes and ears when he’d been promised peace, and he stayed firm.

“Why should I trust you?” Dean said. “Last general you tried to make peace with, he bled to death in Bumfuck Nowhere, Oklahoma.”

“You’re right,” Zach said, nodding as if he had forgotten about that. “You’re absolutely right. But it’s not why you should trust us, it’s why you should do what I say.”

Zach snapped his fingers, and Dean snapped his head toward the thump  on the floor next to Zach, immediately regretted it.

Because there, trussed up like a pig and squealing nearly as loud, was Sammy. Dean almost took a step forward, but he stopped himself, forced his eyes to refocus on Zachariah. He had to keep the banishing sigil hidden behind him, so he could use it if things got worse.

“You okay, Sammy?” Dean barked. Sam made a high pitched whine that could have meant _what do you fucking think,_ or _of course I fucking am,_ or just _help._

“Of course he’s not, look at him,” Zachariah said, snapping his fingers and moving Sam directly into Dean’s line of sight.

Dean couldn’t exactly tell exactly how many injuries Sam had, mostly because he was covered in so much blood it was impossible to see his skin. Fresh red seemed to be leaking out of his mouth and eyes.

“You son of a -”

“Tsk, tsk,” Zachariah said.

Dean stared at him. He didn’t think he’d actually ever heard someone say that.

“No blaspheming, Dean, that’s just rude. Now, I’m sure you’ve already figured out how this is going to go, but since you are exceptionally thick even for a human I’ll explain it slowly,” Zachariah said. He spoke again, in a voice usually reserved for preschoolers, “If you do what I say, I heal Sam. If you don’t, I hurt him. Understood?”

“Tell me what you want, you fucklamp,” Dean gritted out.

Zachariah tutted - honest to God tutted, what the fuck _was_ this guy, an English nanny from the 50’s? - and shook his head. Didn’t do anything to Sam though.

“Didn’t I just say? I want a treaty, for the ‘lasting peace and betterment of our peoples’,” the last bit sounded like he was mocking whoever had said it to him originally.

“And you want me to do what to make that?” Dean said.

“Marry an angel,” Zachariah said.

Dean pulled a muscle trying not to let out a disbelieving laugh. “What, a political marriage? I’m King of the Humans, she’s Princess Angel-”

“Close enough.” Zachariah kicked Sam a little, who was furiously shaking his head even through what must have been blinding pain.

He thought about it. It wasn’t like - well, it wasn’t as if they were serious. Dean wasn’t getting out of here alive, he knew that, he’d already written himself off, and he didn’t want to, but he’d damn near close enough done the same for Sammy. No way either of them were leaving here.

But.

If there was a chance they meant it, even the slightest bit, and he was going to die if he said no - shouldn’t he at least…

“Taking a bit long to decide over there,” Zachariah noted, snapped his fingers. Sam screamed, eyes rolling back into his head.

“Yes! Damn it, yes!” Dean shouted, starting forward, forgetting about the banishing sigil he’d been keeping close by, forgetting to keep his guard up, forgetting everything but to stop his baby brother screaming like that.

“Just what we like to hear!” Zachariah said cheerfully. He snapped his fingers again, and Sam stopped screaming, like a switch had been flipped. Another snap, and Sam was standing, clean, and untied, although the gag remained.

He was too stunned to yell at Dean yet, but that was definitely coming.

“Wedding’s in a week, Deano,” Zachariah said. “Wear your best.”

There was a snap of fingers, and Dean was back on the battlefield, this time with Sammy beside him. Angels disappeared one by one around them, leaving hunters stabbing and shooting and grappling at empty air. More than one fell flat on their face.

“Well, shit. Didn’t expect that to work,” Dean said, putting his blade away and automatically checking the holy oil. Full, good.

  
Sam punched him in the face, and all was right with the world.

**Author's Note:**

> on tumblr at [this gorgeous blog ;)](ang3lba3.tumblr.com)


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